Nice Dream
by greengreendreams
Summary: It's a story about a bobby falling in love with a Wellie and slowly turning into a downer. What will he choose: the truth or the simple happiness? cross-posted on ao3
1. Chapter 1

Mike Pitcherman wore a dark blue buttoned uniform with a police token attached to the place of his heart, a high cap with a flashlight, snow white gloves, black shiny shoes and a black baton on his leather belt. He was tall and strong, taller and stronger than anyone in the city of Wellington Wells, maybe not measuring up to some of his comrades in the Constabulary where he had worked for as long as he could remember himself; he estimated five years as it was the farthest border his Joy-impaired memory was able to pry, everything beyond it - an abyss of nothingness that spoke in incoherent murmurs and fooled a persistent eye with evanescent glimpses of what must had been his life once.

The only things he remembered always, what he had engraved into his mind were Laws, Regulations and Rules, and above all he bore the two truths in his heart:

Happy is the country with no past. And:

Happiness is a choice.

Therefore his duty was to save people from their own foolishness if they chose not to be happy and stopped taking Joy.

Mike was an officer, a decent one, quite respected but leaning closer to the average type of a person, not very dedicated and still very reliable at the same time, who kept to himself. If one was to ask any of his co-workers to describe Mike, many of them would just shrug their shoulders and say something like, "Oh, him? Haven't seen him have a single drop of liquor so what can I say about this bloke?"

Everyone in the Constabulary, from regular patrolmen to the Chief, fancied drinking a lot. What could be better than a bottle of scotch after a hard shift (and, on a rare occasion, during one, when a Wellie would be so kind enough to express their gratitude in such a distinguished way for all the pains the bobbies of the city had to take to keep it safe and sound)? Perhaps only a night in the House of Curious Behaviours, where you could have both liquor and sensual entertaining simultaneously. To refuse liquor was unbelievable. However, Mike wasn't the only one with a deviation like this. There was another officer who was a total abstainer, even more so than Mike who would let himself have a drink when he was off work.

His name was Konstantin, and it just so happened that he was the only person whom Mike could call his, well, if not friend but a pal at least. They didn't have anything in common except for their indifference for drinking, though in Konstantin's case it was sheer antipathy. He was far too short to fit the requirements of the Constabulary, but thanks to his physical strength and absolute commitment to the regime he was easily accepted and since then he had been proving to be one of the best. Oh pray for your life should he as much as have a vague feeling you were doing something illegal! He was the officer to find crime even where there never was one, and it earned him the red uniform.

(Him being a tenor also helped a great deal when there was the question of whether he should be accepted or not, and he became a splendid addition to the Operetta Club.)

Mike felt somewhat honoured to be pals with him: he respected Konstantin for his devotion - this man was an exemplar of a perfect constable. But Mike was never at ease around him. He didn't like the latter's rigidness of mind and his sharp, hawk's eyes. They used to patrol streets together back in the days when Konstantin still wore the blue uniform, so Mike knew well what he was capable of. He saw him knockout downers with one powerful blow, he saw him beat people up mercilessly until they turn into a bloody withering mess. It made his hands tremble and got his chest seized with a strange, unwelcome feeling. Sure downers violated the law but did they deserve this kind of treatment?

Mike never shared these thoughts with anyone, and they lingered, raising their voice every time he witnessed unnecessary cruelty, which was quite often for a city that claimed to be the happiest. Blackberry had been doing great job of silencing them, though. Being an exclusive flavour of joy, it was far harsher and stronger and only distributed to the bobbies since they were the ones who could appreciate its harshness and endure its withdrawals due to the kind of work they did. Ordinary joy could never compete with the Blackberry, and if one tried it once, then the addiction would sink its claws deeply into one's flesh demanding this very flavour and nothing else.

Konstantin once compared the feeling you get when you are pounding a person till blood flows and bones break with the Blackberry effects.

Then he added, agitated by the smell of blood that covered his cuffs, that it was the price for choosing to suffer when they had everything to be happy about provided for free. Unhappiness was to be punished, happy face was to be preserved. The war had damaged Wellington Wells greatly but the city revived quickly and had been faring magnificently since that time, and why all this? Because a smile crossed out the bad memories enabling people to move on.  
Mike shuddered at this. No matter how much Blackberry he'd had since that moment it stuck in his head bringing out uncomfortable thoughts, like should he take a closer look at himself if the person who considered him worthy among many others would say such a thing? What if he beat downers in the same monstrous fashion but didn't remember? Was he doing everything right?..

The easy way was to not think about it. Blackberry, long shifts, a lot of sleep, and problem solved.

* * *

Mike usually patrolled Apple Holm and a part of Maidenhill. They were fully reconstructed colourful streets with festive decorations hanging in the air - a holiday that would never come to an end. (Unless you decided to be a spoilsport and that's your own fault.)

Mike lived in Apple Holm, near the bridge to Lud's Holm. Everyday on his way to work he glanced in that direction, saw red lights of the police station that prevented citizens from going there and downers from entering the city, saw shallow waters of the river below, and thanked his fate internally that he wasn't on the opposite embankment. For the constables, Lud's Holm was a punishment means of sorts. Kept failing tasks? Betrayed your duty? Wasn't responsible enough? Then off to Lud's they sent you, in most cases to guard the Apple Tree - the only source of fresh fruit in the whole city. It was a huge miracle that the tree had survived what had transpired there, namely bombing and chemical attacks. The whole area was heavily contaminated, its soil along with waterbanks poisoned, and the downers who inhabited it were either plague-eaten or about to be. So just breathing its air was dangerous, let alone spending days and nights around the tree that was like a beacon promising heavens for the certainly empty bellies of the inhospitable downers. Mike had never seen a constable return from there in a more or less good shape; without exception they staggered, stumbled where an old man wouldn't, and emanated alcohol. Often they started blabbering about some supernatural rubbish that, they claimed, was real because they saw 'witches and magic' with their own eyes; if anything this only proved that hallucinating while intoxicated was real.

Not the centre of intelligence as the Constabulary was, the officers were bound to lose their last brain cells in that forsaken place.

Formally cheerful hello's and how-do-you-do's were exchanged as Mike entered the Constabulary and went on to the changing room where he put on his uniform and replaced the civilian mask with the officers' one. Its features were extremely exaggerated: very protruding, long chin, inhumanly wide smile with little hooks to keep the corners of the mouth up, and big crooked nose - a face of cartoon villain, not of a policeman. Mike hated it just as long as he was off Blackberry but once he had his respective dose the face of the mask was no longer ugly. It was hilarious.

Just before the morning briefing commenced Konstantin came up to him. He nodded his head slightly in a silent greeting, never sparing a word for formalities, and said, "Don't leave just once after the briefing. I need to talk to you."

He didn't wait for an answer, quick to disappear behind the doors of the room where all the officers were gathering. Mike joined them and took his usual seat.

Today's agenda was fraud of Joy. Listening to the captain, who was giving his typical animated speech, but not really paying attention Mike looked cautiously at Konstantin who was standing - he could never be found seated at this kind of meetings unless he absolutely had to by order - near the exit, leaning a bit against the silver wall, arms crossed. He was immovable, a statue made of steel, as if he was consuming every word the captain was saying:

"... Now there's this bloke or a number of individuals going around our beautiful city doing some nasty things, like selling illegal variations of Joy - totally disapproved by the Docs, lemme tell ya - and we still don't know who it this! Shame on you! Shame on you all! We must catch this little rat and pluck his whiskers out…"

Mike wondered what Konstantin could possibly want to tell him.

Finally everyone was dismissed, and Konstantin stopped him just at the exit with a slight jerk of his chin suggesting to step a tad to the side so as to have some semblance of privacy.

By the way he clasped his hands behind his back and by the way his shoulders tensed even more than usually Mike got a feeling that it wouldn't be a very comfortable topic for his pal.

"So?..." he prodded as Konstantin seemed to be unable to start the conversation.

"Do you remember my wife? Domna?"

That was something surprising.

"Sure," though it wasn't completely true Mike opted not to admit having only remembered her existence just now. He saw her once and it must have been a long time ago. "She's a wonderful lady."

"She is. She wants to know if you'd like to come have dinner with us today. I advise to accept."

Konstantin always talked in a deadly serious, stern manner, and coupled with the cartoonish mask and the character of the proposal that should sound polite and amiable but have sounded like an order it almost made Mike snort a laugh.

"It's unexpected but I'll come with pleasure."

"Good. We'll be waiting for you at nine. Now let's get to work."

* * *

Even if I had some plans for this evening, Mike thought to himself striding down the colourful street, he would have made me cancel them. Mike could feel that it was on the tip of his tongue, literally the next thing Konstantin was going to say but didn't have to. Mike didn't have anything arranged for today or any other day and wasn't it for Blackberry in his system it would have still be bothering him greatly and not just for the short amount of time that had passed between their conversation and the moment he got his daily share of the drug.

Dinner with a company certainly was going to be a nice change from the routine of long and exhausting shifts. Everyday there was something that needed to be dealt with, like a broken motilene pipe or a downer or an accident with a Wellie… The latter was quite a frequent thing, sadly. Addled by Joy many forgot the basics of living like a proper human being, and during his tenure Mike had to save lots of careless citizens who'd forgotten their way home (nothing drastic, but still), who'd fall unconscious in the middle of a street because they'd forgotten to eat (quite drastic, but nothing a Doctor couldn't solve), who'd cut or somehow injure themselves without feeling any pain and bleed out (drastic, hard to notice while on Blackberry, required quick aid).

To some Wellies all of this seemed to happen on a regular basis, and there was one among them that stood out particularly.

The bloke caught Mike's eye in the beginning of spring, about three months ago. Mike learnt that his name was Leo, he worked at the tailoring studio and most often could be seen around three different girls - whether any of them was his significant other Mike couldn't tell but he wouldn't be surprised if it was so with the looks like his.

He had red hair that looked like he attempted to style them in the morning but gave up, and usually wore a brown single-breasted jacket with cuffs, matching trousers with turned up bottoms that revealed his ankles, and black shoes. The air of youthfulness surrounded him and whenever you looked at him he was in a joyous disposition that seemed to live inside of him instead of solely being the illusion Joy gifted to everyone.

There was one problem with Joy, though.

Mike had started to think that he was taking the regulation about it too close to his heart and had it for breakfast, lunch and supper since the goofy bloke had lost his way home two times on Mike's watch, came up to Mike and asked to help him get there, which was quite a time consuming task, and one time after that he'd come across him unexpectedly. They introduced and talked to each other, and Mike even dared to assume that Leo was flirting with him off-handedly but all his timid hopes crushed against the inevitable after-effect of Joy - memory loss.

That was the problem. Leo didn't remember him, probably forgetting him completely right after thanking him for the help.

* * *

Something was happening near Leo's house, there were telltale signs of trouble: an officer interrogating a man and light violet streaks of motilene coming out of an opened window. His heart clenching, Mike quickened his pace.

"... my friend and saw the vapors," the man was explaining to the officer. He seemed to be relaxed, both hands in the pockets of his grayish jacket, posture slack. He was quite tall, not skinny as most of the Wellies but not making it to the sturdy type of body, and along with the suit most often seen in this city he was wearing a peaky blinder. "So I got into the house to see if everything was alright with them. The door was open, my friend forgets to close it from time to time."

The officer noticed Mike approach and turned towards him to share his thoughts with an earnestness of a man brought up on a farm.

"Oi can you believe it - the guy right 'ere plays a hero of the day and goes and drags out these two lil' lovebirds out," with a short laugh he pointed with his chin to the bench nearby where two bodies were positioned. One of them was Leo and the other was a girl, both unconscious. Mike let out a sigh.

"What's happened here? Did a pipe break?"

"That fella' says so but tell you what - he's a sleazy one, so we're waiting for the Docs to show up and see what they have to say."

The man seemed unfazed at the prospect of being examined by Doctors continuing to roll on his hills and whistling a quiet chipper tune as if it was just another sunny, careless day.

"How long have they been exposed to the motilene for?" Mike asked, coming closer to the two 'lovebirds' on the bench. They were leaning against one another, serene, like two babies sleeping, and their skin was covered in an almost invisible fleur of violet dust. Mike felt an unpleasant pang inside of him as he checked for pulse - it was weak and slow for the both, and they needed medical aid, quickly.

"Who cares, they're either gonna' die or live, and it's in the Docs' competence, not ours," the officer blabbered making Mike's fists itch - why was he so stupid? Was he drunk? The way he slurred while talking - he had to be drunk, and god it was driving Mike mad, the total stupidity of the Constabulary -

He took a deep breath. It was just Blackberry washing away.

"Do you know?" he addressed the man in the peaky blinder, and it came out harsh.

He shrugged his shoulders, "Well I'm not an expert but I'd bet they've spent the whole morning like this."

"You said they were your friends?"

"That's right! Just came to pay them a visit but I guess our humble tea-party is postponed now."

Mike was about to ask his name feeling with his gut that there was something off about the lad even though his pupils were tiny which meant he was on Joy, but the Doctor came drawing Mike's attention away, and the next moment he looked there was no trace of the lad. Cursing Mike looked around, checked the nearest corner and even went through the house - to no avail. The other officer, of course, didn't see where he'd gone to either.

The rest of the shift Mike spent torn between two contradictive feelings - grateful that there happened to be somebody to save Leo and his friend and frustrated with that somebody for obviously doing something criminal.

* * *

Konstantin's wife, Domna, was a short plump woman with sparkly eyes and short, neatly done hair. She wore pearly earrings and her palm was soft and warm when she stretched it for a handshake.

"It's so nice to meet you, Mr. Pitcherman! My husband is such a grumpy it always warms my heart when he finds a friend," she was talking in a joking voice casting glances full of love in Konstantin's direction who was standing awkwardly by the staircase with his arms crossed tightly. It was so unusual to see him in a plain attire - it was hard to believe he had family at all.

"It's nice to meet you, too."

Their house smelled of apple pie. Mike was shown to the living-room adjoined with the small kitchen in bright orange and red colours. The modest dinner was already served in the living-room but Domna was making last preparations in the kitchen.

"He's rather reticent about his work," Domna said while Konstantin was in the bathroom. "I'm afraid he's becoming too reserved. Don't you think so, Mr. Pitcherman?"

"Just Mike, please. And reserved is not the word," not being used to this kind of social interactions Mike couldn't quite find what to do with himself, so he opted to lean against the back of the sofa and place his hands on its on its velvety fabric, squeezing it between his fingers. "To be honest, I'm surprised he's a family man."

Domna laughed. "Oh I still can't believe it myself! That he asked me to marry him, that is. Oh I just noticed, what nice hair you have! It makes me embarrassed for my curt pigtail," she pulled at her hair which was styled into a hairdo far from resembling any kind of pigtail. Joy and memory loss.

"Thank you," Mike said feeling extremely conscious about the length of his hair, that he made into a ponytail for the sake of the evening. He liked them the way they were but having to hide them inside the police cap most of the time he'd almost forgotten how people usually reacted to it, though at the moment Domna's compliment was welcomed.

"It's feminine," he heard Konstantin, who'd appeared silently in the doorway, put in his two cents and then he took his seat at the table.

"It's a new wave in fashion, dear," Domna told him, "one that is yet to be heard about." She winked at Mike and immediately clasped her hands, "Now make yourself at home, Mike, and please enjoy the meal with us!"

The dinner rolled by pleasurably, with Domna making most of the talking. She was interested in everything concerning Mike: work, personal life, favourite episodes of Uncle Jack's show; halfway through Mike had stopped feeling uncomfortable about her straight, simple questions. The spirit of the evening warmed up, Domna was no more the wife of his superior and the silence of the latter himself was no more a heavy pressure against Mike's shoulders. There weren't many things, though, that he could share about his personal life as he didn't quite have it - his little, shy crush on that Leo guy was pathetic, Mike had to be honest to himself. It stung all the more painful as he saw Konstantin turn docile at Domna's side, saw them touching chastely, saw the love between them. And his life? Old empty apartment, Blackberry, sleep and forbidden cravings.

When the dinner came to an end and Domna left them to themselves, Konstantin started to talk.

"Why didn't you tell my wife that you have certain interest in that boy from the tailor shop?"

The question, bold and confident, hit Mike like a bong.

"How… How did you notice?"

"I saw you several times. It wasn't that hard to tell. You couldn't tear your eyes off him."

"Well… It's nothing serious yet, it's practically nothing, so…"

"Good. I don't typically do it but. I think I can trust you not to jump head over hills at what I have to say to you."

Mike tensed.

"I know for sure the Chief wants to promote you. So you must show that you really deserve it and there's an excellent opportunity for that. Do you follow?"

He could only nod.

"We have an illegal Joy vendor. I have solid grounds to assume it's somebody named Ethan Kravchenko. And do you know who he's associated with?"

"Can't be," Mike breathed out.

"That's right. Your boy, Leonardo LaVey, and probably the whole establishment he works at, is somehow involved with this person. Here's your chance to prove yourself."

There was a pause.

"I don't think he buys anything from this Ethan person," finally said Mike.

"Maybe. But if he does, he belongs to the Garden District. This is why you shouldn't get your hopes..."

"Yes I know!" he snapped and chid himself at once. "I know… Sorry."

"Just take extra Joy. You'll forget."

You'll forget, repeated Mike to himself, knowing full well that he didn't want to.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day Mike had a talk with the Captain and was officially appointed the leading officer in the shady dealer case.

Neither any documents nor a warning was required to come knocking at somebody's door since everyone knew that bobbies only pay visits to the bad boys and girls. What happens to the bad boys and girls? Here, in the benevolent city of Wellington Wells, no such primitive, antihumane, humiliating methods as prisoning were applied. God save! The innovating city it was, the naughty citizens went on holiday to the Garden District, where the calm healthy atmosphere one could find nearly identical to the Japanese gardens helped them understand what's right and wrong, reflect on their wrongdoings and come to the life-changing conclusion. Happiness was only a matter of choice.

Nothing wrong with choosing to be happy, repeated Mike to himself before taking a pill of Blackberry. Immediately the colours lit up brighter than an explosion and his head felt like cotton candy. The most delicious, the lightest cotton candy of all - it filled up the hole in the chest where that slippery, unbearable black apathy brood and icky anxiety floated under the skin. Each pill reminded Mike that he could embrace his sorrow instead of letting it stew forever inside of him to only sour in the end of the day. Feeling this joyful was cathartically releasing - feeling, feeling, feeling! No fear, no doubts - a blissful silence of conscience. It was the freedom to never ask yourself questions. God bless Sally Boyle, the Creator, the Alchemist!

He, along with two other officers, went first to the tailoring studio where Leo worked. According to the document from the Archive its owner used to be a Dolores Clare, then it was inherited by her granddaughter Ellie LaVey who, - and it had given Mike a sick feeling when he read it, still sober at that time, - was on holiday. Then due to some unknown reason the family business came into the hands of a mundane assistant at the studio, by the name of Rey Norton, instead of being further inherited by the only member of the family to be alive - Leo. It was something shady and mildly unsettling with one conclusion making itself obvious - Leo LaVey indeed could be associated with something illegal but as his request for Leo's profile was still being "processed" nothing could be said for sure.

Moreover, it didn't matter as long as he was happy. A happy person is a person with no past!

After all, Mike couldn't name another Wellie who was more in love with Joy than Leo, and he was talking from his long time unintentionally watching over him.

Rey Norton looked very surprised at the sight of three policemen in his studio but quickly regained composure and greeted them. He was a man of mid-thirties, tall, lanky, spic and span in the clothes of the latest fashion. They found him in the middle of taking measurements of some lady, who in an amazing exhibition of coyness cried out a scared "Oh!" and ducked behind the drawers but in a moment was peeking at them curiously. In the main room, which was a shop of sorts with different fabrics and ready articles of clothes being displayed, a couple-other of workers stopped doing whatever they were doing and were giving them equally interested stares.

A small TV in one of the top corners of the room was broadcasting Uncle's Jack show.

They knew well what to do; while Mike interrogated Mr. Norton his colleagues divided to ransack the other rooms: the office and the one that said "Staff only" in a multi-coloured print. The workshop, the remaining room, was to be searched last.

"Dare I ask, constable, on what grounds is this happening?" Mr. Norton asked with a tint of insolent annoyance.

"I'm asking questions here," cut Mike, "And I have quite a many. Are you in charge of this establishment?"

"I believe so," he raised a supercilious brow.

"Do you have relevant documents allowing you to do the business?"

"Of course. If you'd be kind enough to step into my office -"

"Not necessary, my people are already searching your office," a spark of indignity seemed to light up Mr. Norton's eyes, "so you'd better be telling the truth."

"I most certainly wouldn't lie to you, sir. It's all good. I've been managing my studio for - I sincerely can't even remember, this long it's been!" His attitude had changed just a tad. There was more friendliness in his voice. "I'm sorry if I may have sounded harsh, I was so preoccupied that such a big visit caught me off-guard. I really love my work and any disturbance is a shame."

"Maybe you should consult a Doctor about this? Get more Joy? So, you know, not be so harsh about a simple visit."

"Oh, no-no, I didn't mean it like this!" he made a short laugh and waved his hand. "I'm very sorry, sir. I can assure you I've taken my Joy. And, in fact, everyone here has. Right, girls?" There was a wave of gleeful affirmation. Mr. Norton looked very pleased.

"It's not the whole staff, is it?" Mike asked.

"No. We have five more employees, ten in total including me. You see, it's a rather small business."

"How can you describe your employees?"

"Industrious. Devoted. Responsible. Honest. Joyful! Always a pleasure to have some fun in their company after a fruitful day."

"Does Leonardo LaVey happen to work here?"

"Oh yes! He's one of the best, I must say. He's got this natural sense of style. If only he wasn't so absent-minded sometimes," the last bit was said in the same manner a teacher would use to describe that single flaw their favourite pupil had, the flaw that was more dear than anything else, to be remembered in the senescence with a touch of nostalgia.

Mike saw that one of his men was done with searching and nodded at him. Then told Mr. Norton to lead him to Leo while the officer watched over the shop.

They came to the farthest room through a crooked narrow corridor. It was the workshop: there were two rows of tables with sewing machines, and rows of tables embracing the room at the perimeter, all of them piled with heaps and heaps of fabric, papers with pencil drawings, half-finished costumes, big scissors and meter-long rulers, threads and what not. Mannequins stood at corners with measuring tapes hanging on their shoulders. The workshop smelled of coffee and fabric. There were three people engrossed in the art of making garments.

"Here he is," Mr. Norton made a gesture towards Leo who was sitting at one of the sewing machines, a large piece of white fabric under its fast loud needle. "Leo, dear, say hello to the officer!"

The noise stopped as Leo turned his head to look at them. His smile seemed to become brighter and he stumbled - Mike fought an urge to catch him - to his feet singing a cheerful "Good morning, sir!"

He was so weak, Mike could tell, which was of no surprise considering that it was only yesterday he (and his friend) was out from the motilene poisoning. His usual brown jacket together with the green tie were resting on the back of the chair, and for the first time Mike saw him in just a white shirt, one button undone, sleeves curled up. His hands were very slim and pale and shaking almost invisibly. The Doctors must have given him… must have given him the usual treatment. The only treatment. Joy. A lot of it, apparently. Cure poison with another -

"Well?" at the sound of Mr. Norton's expecting voice Mike snapped out of his abstraction and cleared his throat. A familiar pain started to creep slowly in his head like far echoes of coming storm.

"Mister LaVey? I'd like to ask you some questions."

"Ask away!"

Leo was so much like a kid.

"What did you do yesterday?"

"Hmm. Well… It's hard to remember! I believe I was at home with Jenny -"

"Yes, while you should've been here," interrupted Mr. Norton with a kind reproach the dissatisfied undertone of which was elegantly concealed.

"Is that so? Sorry, Rey," he simply laughed.

"Why didn't you come to your workplace?" Mike continued even though the unasked for remark irritated him.

"I thought it was Sunday. And it's - what? Thursday?"

"It's Friday," Mike helped.

"Oh, right! I should write it somewhere…"

"Who is Jenny?"

"My friend and neighbour! We see each other every day."

"What's her last name?"

"Erm. It's Stevenson. Yes, it's Stevenson."

"And still you didn't really answer my question. Try to remember the yesterday's events. Did you see any other people? Friends?"

"Weeell… I guess so?" Leo put his left arm on the back of his head, a red bracelet shifting a little. "I was with Jenny and we… we were just drinking tea and talking… I guess somebody else was coming - it's hard to remember."

Something was off. Not about Leo's words and not about - not about what? Mike felt dizzy. The headache intensified signifying that the Blackberry effects were washing away but why so soon? Mike's ears filled with drowning noise, words becoming incoherent, colours dim and dark, smell of dust hitting his nostrils, but it was something else that had pulled the trigger.

Once again Mike looked at the red bracelet on Leo's arm - what material was it that it made the jewel look like it was a thing taken out of a Picasso picture, leaking and spreading? Or had Blackberry impeded his perception with its goodbye, as always? There was an aggressive heaviness pressing at his brain from both sides making him unable to think what that bracelet really was, only know what it was and know that he knew, no word to clothe the thought until Mike finally broke through the lead fog: it was blood. Two large streaks and one a thread-like narrow flowing from the interval between a thumb and index finger and going down to the wrist with neat little lines of white.

"Sir?"

Mike started. He thought the room was too hot. He had close to no time to decide what he was going to do next but the dilemma opening before him required more time to ponder than close to nothing.

In Wellington Wells, it was inappropriate to see blood that had not been drawn out by a well-deserved beating. Why would you see blood if you're happy? Moreover, Mike was already stepping on thin ice as Blackberry had left his system and it probably was obvious.

On the other hand, it seemed like Leo had sewn his hand under the sewing machine needle, and as far as Mike could tell it was a serious injury that most certainly would get infected very soon without proper medical attention, proper as in real medical help, not as in substituting blood in veins with Joy like all the city doctors tended to treat their patients.

Mike fixed his gaze on Leo's ingenuous eyes. "Leonardo LaVey, I really think you need to go on holiday for a few days as it appears to me that you're still not well after yesterday."

Mr. Norton protested but it was of much less importance than Leo brushing the police order off: "Sorry, sir, but I most definitely don't need any holiday. I'm feeling fantastic!"

"I'm afraid it's not up to you to decide. You're going with me," Mike was aware of the impression he must be making on Leo - stiff, cold - but he had decided he would make up for it, at least with the injury attended to.

The officers that were with Mike left to finish the routine-check of the studio and its workers, Mike led Leo towards Lud's Holm while in his mind he had every intention to take him home. Good thing his house was in the same direction. The only worry aside Leo's injury grinding on the constable's nerves was his mask. It felt, in a figurative way, as if it was incessantly slipping off and it even grew into a real irritation that concentrated in the corners of his mouth where the tiny hooks keeping his smile unnaturally wide were. Oh how he wished to take the bloody thing off!

Every Wellie, every constable on the way seemed to prick through Mike, him having to shake off the illogical fears that they had already sensed his failed integrity. The street screens, however, had more uneasy effect upon Mike with their moving simultaneously to his movements, like attentive eyes watching him while the ever-smiling, ever-kind, ever-friendly face of Uncle Jack talked something funny and soothed all worries. If Leo wasn't babbling about everything that apparently came to his mind, Mike was sure he'd already be having a nervous breakdown.

His house was in a five minutes walk now, and Mike quickened his pace navigating Leo with his hand on his bony shoulder - it just hit him that in the rush of getting away from the studio he didn't even let Leo put on his jacket - and then he caught a glimpse of the telltale figure in a coat and top hat among the Wellies. Without thinking Mike shoved Leo in the narrow passage between two buildings that happened to be empty of people, himself slipping there as well. Before Leo could say anything Mike put his finger to his lips shushing him effectively. Tensed up and alert, Mike watched the part of the street from their hiding spot waiting for the Doctor to pass.

"Is this some kind of a game?" he heard Leo whisper against his finger.

"No. Be quiet."

"If not, why are we hiding from the -"

Mike had to put his whole palm against his mouth as the Doctor was going right past the passage. An excruciatingly long moment - and the Doctor was gone. Mike released his hold on Leo.

"You're really heavy-handed, did you know that?" he said with a suggestion of off-handed flirting.

"It means you've never met actual heavy-handed people."

"What's your name, sir? I think I should've asked for it from the start but the circumstances were kind of unfitting."

"Mike Pitcherman."

"Mike Pitcherman… Sounds familiar. But I can't pinpoint where I could've heard it."

"Anyway, we should be going." Taking his wrist Mike led him towards his destination.

"I hope you're not planning on anything bad, sir? With your playing hide-and-seek in some ungodly dead-ends. I only trust you because you are a bobby and you look trustable."

The bridge where the gates to another dimension, or better say a hole in reality, were aroused in sight. His home was now at a hand's reach but suddenly Leo stopped dead in his tracks and refused to go any further.

"If I'm to have a holiday, I ought to take some things with me," he reasoned. Mike glanced at his still bleeding hand and thought what he could say.

"You will be given all the necessary things at the station on the bridge," he lied, "and also you will have to come at my -"

"No, sir, you don't understand. I need to take my things. I don't mean to sound rude, but how do you expect me to live in the Garden District in only what I have on me right now? I even had to leave my jacket and tie at Rey's since you were in such a rush," all of this was said without a single hint of displeasure; quite a contrary, the intonation suggested a friendly humor. As Mike didn't answer right away thinking of his better options, Leo went on, "Besides, I need to tell Jenny and Holly that I'm going to absent from the city for several days. How long am I going to be on vacation? I can't leave Jenny alone for long, she will miss me and I will miss her… Sir, Mike - can I call you Mike? - is it may be possible that it'll do without any vacation at all? I really, really am well."

Mike didn't find it in him to refuse the sincere eyes that looked at him so full of hope and blissfully devoid of any real idea about what the Garden District was, and more than anything he couldn't resist a warm feeling in his stomach at the sound of his name coming from Leo's lips, even in that shallowish manner.

"Do you… Do you happen to have any alcohol at home?"

"Of course! I can share a bottle with you if you want."

"I'd like that… If you don't want to go on holiday. But for that you will have to do whatever I tell you to do without asking any questions," Mike knew he sounded weird and funny but in the end of the day tending to Leo's wound was his priority number one and, well, yes, it didn't matter whether he would try to help him at his house or at the Wellie's as long as he actually could help.

And he must face the off-Blackberry reality: Leo would forget him in the end of the day, as usual.

The apartment Leo lived in was small and cozy. From the entrance Mike could see almost the whole of it. It had a living-room with a coffee-table in the centre, surrounded by two sofas, a TV set - hardly any apartment, no matter how small and modest, denied itself the pleasure of seeing Uncle Jack every day - and a bookcase with anything but books inside. There was still violet dust covering most of the things.

Apart from the living-room there was one more room - bedroom, must be, - and a kitchen with flowery wallpaper that made Mike think of elderly mothers preparing dinner for the family, and that impression didn't sit well with him.

As soon as he finished with his quick look-over of the apartment, the habit he'd acquired over the years in the Department, it turned out there was someone else inside which came as a surprise to the owner too. A shadow shifted from inside the bedroom but before neither of the two could say anything the intruder made himself known walking out of the bedroom with both hands in pockets and shoulders relaxed, a familiar sly smile on the lips. It was the guy from yesterday who had saved Leo and his friend Jenny from being poisoned. Whatever he had been doing there he obviously hadn't expected to see a constable at the door as he seemed to bite at his lip the moment they saw each other.

A feeling of uneasiness crept into Mike's heart but in a second it became a full-red alarm as he heard Leo say, "Oh, it's you, Ethan! You got me there for a moment, you sneaky cat! Did I forget to close the door again?"

"You never close it," the guy said, smiling with one corner of the mouth. He followed Leo to the kitchen while Mike opted to watch their conversation from where he'd been standing.

"Did you come to see me or are you looking for Jen?"

"Actually I was hoping to catch her at yours but when I came you weren't here as well. I believe she's still at the Doctor's, right?"

"She must be. They're probably going to let her go soon. Should we visit her? We should, shouldn't we?"

"Yeah, no problem." No problem, thought Mike? There were all the problems imaginable about visiting a girl captured by the Doctors. "Anyway I just dropped in to check on you, see if maybe you need something," the guy, Ethan, was about to go but then reconsidered, changing in his countenance for a briefest moment. He must have seen the blood. Ethan gave Mike a look that the latter couldn't quite read; it was something between amazement and amusement.

"Um, Leo? Would you be so kind as to introduce me to your big league guest?"

"Oh, right! Sorry. This is Mike, I mean constable Pitcherman. Sir, this is my friend Ethan!"

Ethan made few lazy steps to stretch his hand for a handshake which Mike accepted. The former's gaze lingered on the red stains on the latter's white gloves. "What an honour, constable Pitcherman, to shake hands with a man who watches after us vulnerable folk day and night."

Ethan gave him a look that seemed to ask a silent question but for the answer he didn't wait turning to Leo again, who was in the middle of opening a bottle with his injured hand.

"Can you believe, Ethan, that I am to go on holiday?"

Ethan blurted out a snort. "What? You? Really?" he turned his head to Mike. "Did you know, constable Pitcherman, that it's bad to play jokes on little kids?"

"Leo needs help," was all Mike found necessary to say.

"I most certainly don't," he objected. "But thank you for caring. Now, would you share a drink with me and Ethan?"

"And after that we'll go visit Jenny at the hospital. Though it'll not be easy to get there but constable will help us, right?"

There wasn't a single hospital in Wellington Wells aside for Hamsworth Labs which wasn't a hospital at all but it was the leading centre of all medical research in the city. Being a humble constable of the colour blue Mike had no rights to come any further than the main hall without Dr. Verloc's permit; but it happened that Ethan wasn't talking about visiting a hospital literally.

He had left as soon as he had his shot of whiskey saying he would be back in a few, and, of course, he wasn't. Mike with a lot of effort persuaded Leo to let him wash his wound which cost him a lot of explaining - try to tend to the wound of a person who doesn't see it and doesn't believe it can possibly be there! But Mike knew there was no time left to waste. Surprisingly enough, an hour later when he was done removing the thread that could be extracted Ethan returned. Leo went to the bathroom to take Joy while Mike had a chance for a tête-à-tête with that shady guy whose whole visage screamed "Ethan, illegal Joy vendor, the one the Department is after".

"Do you care for him?" was Ethan's straightforward question that hit Mike unprepared. He imagined he would be the one to start the conversation but the opportunity to gain the upper hand had been lost at once.

"What if I do?"

"Then we're on the same side here, aren't we? Because he needs help but with all regard, constable, only I know where to get proper help. Tomorrow he will unbound the wound you've taken so much pain to treat and it will get infected nevertheless. But before I offer you my help I need you to guarantee something."

"You're Ethan Kravchenko, and you don't want to get in trouble," supplied Mike, folding his hands. Ethan winced.

"Can we please omit my last name while in mutual interaction? Thank you."

"So, is it what you want in exchange for your help? My protection?"

"Let me put it precisely: you never saw me, I don't exist. I suppose it won't be hard for you, constable, seeing that you seem to be... a bit off."

"I'm not off," Mike objected at the truth so mockingly served to his face. "But..." he remembered about the promotion, then remembered two innocent people unconscious on the bench, and sighed. "Alright. I won't give you in but it doesn't mean you're all safe to wander over the city. If you get caught, that's not my problem."

"Worry not, constable, I can take care of myself. As for Leo... There's a doctor's office in the Garden District who will patch him up if I ask her nicely. And I'm all about asking nicely," he winked. "All you need to do is see him there and back safe and sound. Garden District is not the place for a little kid, you agree, constable?"

"But I already promised him he isn't going on holiday..."

Ethan shrugged his shoulders. "It's not a problem if you tell him that you're going to see Jenny. You two meet me at seven in the evening on the other side of the bridge, no tricks, got it?"

"Got it."

Meanwhile Leo came out of the bathroom with newly clouded eyes.

At seven in the evening Mike was waiting for the shady dealer to guide him and Leo to the doctor.


End file.
